Words Without Meaning
by GraceSong
Summary: Scarlett is a fugitive from her own family. Sherlock Holmes is as bored as ever. As for Mycroft, he is writing the future of the terrified teenager, and the detective who has just met his match. Ft.OC Reviews welcome and much appreciated
1. Grumpy,Dopey,Doc

**Hi.**

**Yet another project bouncing around my head, so I really need reviews to establish whether or not to continue it. **

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

She was running. Running like she had never run before, and with the screaming of her muscles tormenting her with every step, probably never would again. Not that that really mattered though. As long as she was a really long way away from where she was meant to be, she wouldn't need to move beyond a casual jog ever again.

The teenager swerved around incoming traffic, delicately sidestepping past evening commuters as she weaved through the London streets. Obviously she could choose a simpler route, one that would involve her toes being trodden on less and fewer complaints being voiced, but that would defeat the object of her running. Also it would be considerably less fun.

Blinking back to the present as she heard a shout that had become all too recognisable, the girl looked around her before running almost directly at a bus shelter. Springing at the last minute, she clambered upwards before scrambling and crawling till she was sitting on the roof of the nearest building. Climbing had never been her thing, back where she could have talents and bad points without it becoming life threatening; but the scraped knee and bruised ribs were nothing compared to what she would receive if she backed out now.

Adrenalin coursed through her body as she tried to steady her breathing and the frantic beating of her heart. She watched almost calmly as the four suited officials tracking her ran past her perch on the top of the London building, before turning back; revolving on her ankles so that there was no chance of her balance being lost as she swivelled round to point in her new direction. In front of her, the skyline glistened in the evening sunset, showing clearly the edges of London's enthralling streets and suburban housing estates. The teen stared at the horizon, one hand over her eyes to shade them from the fierce sun as she gazed out beyond the forest of skyscrapers and to the distant glimmer of fields. A small spec blocked the view of freedom from her, and she sighed in frustration, before realising her error.

The helicopter whirred through the skyline, cutting off the teenager's contemplations as it powered through the skies, directly towards her. Onboard, the dashboard flashed with the location of its target. The 'target' started to back away, before remembering the ledge she had been previously standing on. With the agility of an athlete-which she most definitely was not- the girl spun around as she tipped backwards and clung to the edge, before clambering back onto the safety of the roof. From there she dropped low, hoping against hope that the helicopter wasn't equipped with infra-red. Of course it was, that was only wishful thinking. Cursing her own stupidity she remembered herself who her captor was, who she was dealing with. Remembering also made her thing just how annoying he and his creepy cohorts were. The teenager smiled.

She waited, still crouching, until he helicopter was in a ten metre radius, just close enough to look the pilot in the eye; and wink. From there, she straightened up , and ran. She sprinted between chimneys and raised skylights, all the while tracking the progress of the helicopter with one ear. As far as she was aware, it was struggling to manoeuvre round the obstacles that were proving no problem to a small enough body as herself. Which was a good thing because it also meant the tranquilizers couldn't aim.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her once again, and with a start she realised that she was being tracked from the ground. As she ran level with the three armed, government officials, the teenager analysed each one. There was Dopey, who may well be a good fighter but couldn't solve a puzzle if you paid him-which was a shame considering that they did; Grumpy who was missing a date and a pay rise; and Doc- the one who was holding the syringe.

The girl gained ground on them and then stopped at the nearest fire escape ladder. Looking down, she whistled loudly before stopping completely and hanging off the ladder casually, trying not to show them the shaking of her hands or her shortness of breath. All she had to do was split them up. It was simple. Childs play-which was good, considering she was one.

As she shimmied down the ladder with unexpected ease, she kicked over the nearest bin, separating the group in a spate of luck. She was left with Grumpy, who lasted approximately 18 seconds before finding himself sampling the textures of the rubbish bins in a force-induced stupor. The teen would have known the exact time, but he had broken her watch with the second punch. Shaking her hand out to stop the cramping as the bones clicked out of place, she vaulted over the bins and came face to face with Dopey. Time for the complicated stuff. She looked at him again, taking in the crumpled picture in his left pocket and the slight bulge in his wallet. He had kids-so it would be easier then she thought.

She let her defensive stance crumble at her feet, before holding her good hand up in surrender as she stifled a sob. Through the corner of one eye, she noticed the man's official posture falter, and be replaced with that of a father.

"What's your name sweetie?" he questioned, while reaching out to her with one arm. She looked up through tear-glazed pupils, and whimpered.

"Scarlett. It's Scarlett, Sir." She smiled slightly as he knelt down to her, before kicking him where no man should ever be kicked without reason. He doubled over, and then tasted concrete. His groans of agony were soon replaced by nothing as Scarlett knelt down besides him and touched the pressure point on the back of his neck to knock him unconscious.

Getting back to her feet, she froze as she remembered the unforgettable, and then was forced to the ground as strong hands pulled her hands behind her back and pushed her nose to the dirt of the alley. She struggled and flailed but failed to make contact, and a few more minutes of pressure made her give in. She stilled her movements, and curled in on herself ever so slightly, till her head was forced upwards to look into the eyes of her captor.

He strolled down amidst the dirt and the rubbish, swinging his umbrella under one arm, holding a briefcase firmly in the other; before coming to a stop before her. She could see his polished shoes right in front of her nose, but she could not raise the effort to spit. It was all over. Doc had her pinned with no way out, and the very man she had been running from her come to meet her, take her back, and probably punish her for her 'crimes'.

"Well, well, well Miss Scarlett," the government official started," You put up quite the fight this time. I'm almost impressed. But it's over now. You cannot run away from the government in the very heart of where they govern. That is absurd and below your intelligence. Do what you must Mr Saunders."

Doc, or Mr Saunders as he must be, reached down to Scarlett's arm, and found a vein. She offered no resistance, as she was still thinking about the words of the man she despised, but also had to entrust with her life. She waited for the prick of the needle, and winced as it pumped sleep around her body. She felt herself going numb, and her legs collapsing out underneath her crouched form. She whimpered-properly this time, letting a tiny amount of emotion through her shields- before there was silence, and the nothing.

A couple of metres away from his captive and his responsibility, Mycroft Holmes made a phone call. He twirled his umbrella and inspected the point as he waited for the line to pick up. As it did he placed the umbrella back at his feet and turned further away from the scene.

"Hello brother dear, I have a preposition for you."

**So what did you think? Viable enough to continue? Please leave your thoughts and comments in a review or PM me. **

**Thank you.**


	2. Death Wrapped in Custard

**Hello again! Thank you so much for reading and for enjoying if you are still reading! **

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**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

**Enjoy!**

"So let me get this straight. You want us, as in the world's only consulting detective and an ex army doctor who solve crimes, cause havoc around London and just generally act irresponsible, to look after your assignment? Really?"

Scarlett groaned as she gained consciousness for what must have been the fifth time this week. For a few seconds she remained completely disorientated- her ears ringing and her spotted vision causing everything to spring back and forth in and out of focus.

After the first bout of head splitting pains across her temple had cleared, the teenager began to try to think of an exclamation for her predicament. Perhaps she was drunk? No that was stupid, she was fourteen and from the hazy memories she could catch hold of as they fell through her cluttered mind, she wouldn't have been anywhere near alcohol anyway. Ill maybe? Possibly, and if she hadn't been she definitely was now. But not ill enough to warrant a hospital visit, because this place-wherever _this was_ – didn't smell of disinfectant. So hospital was out. This would have given the young adult some kind of relief, as far as her memories told her, but for some reason Scarlett could think of nothing better than a delusional amount of drugs and the comfort of a stressed out orderly patrolling the wards.

Scarlett put her hands over her eyes, sighing in frustration as she tried to work out what the hell was happening. Closing her eyes she searched for answers inside her mind. What she saw made the girl want to cry.

Her precious filing system was in tatters. Important facts lay strewn across the floor, muddled and disorganised beyond repair. Memories of times that she really wanted to forget and had almost managed to had resurfaced and caused mayhem. Everything was running around, screaming with their pants on their heads, while Scarlett looked on in terror.

"_You're a disappointment." "Not up to your usual standards" "Don't do it madam!" "Freak!" "I feel as bad as death wrapped in custard" How could custard wrap?" "Get out of my head!" Help me please" "My mind has shattered ""BE QUET!" _

With a start she snapped open her eyes and bit her lip to stop the tears flowing. She didn't cry. She just didn't.

Instead of sitting or rather lying on the bed in the anonymous room wallowing in self pity, Scarlett tried to get up. This was not only a bad idea but also an impossible one. She hit the floor hard, but rolled as best she could with the impact and managed to twist to view the problem.

Her arm was attached by what to the teen's still somewhat hazy vision to the bedpost by ribbon, which the burning feeling on her upper arm would correlate to. Struggling to make her fingers focus for a few minutes, the young adult quickly undid the not, and then wriggled and stretched her arm. The circulation might have retuned, but the effort had caused Scarlett's head to swim again, so she didn't notice it.

As she sat and waited for the light headedness to end, the teenager finally noticed the conversation seemingly going on in the next room. Cursing her own stupidity for missing it sooner, Scarlett settled herself as near to the slightly open door as she could and listened.

"Surely their must be somewhere else. Somewhere safer perhaps. Someone more responsible. Someone less like us. "

A deeper voice resonated through the cracked doorway, laughter filling the air circulating around the silent teen.

"John, you do realise don't you, that Mycroft does not deal well with responsibility. His weight clearly displays that-"

Another voice entered the conversation. An indignant one if tones were anything to go by.

"Sherlock I, as you constantly remind me, am the British Government. I don't think responsibility covers it. I simply want someone to devoid me of this one problem. You fitted the requirements and so you now have one responsibility in your irresponsible lives."

Scarlett tried to be offended at her being called a problem, but she couldn't hide a slight smile as she realised that she was causing even a small amount of difficulty. She was not a troublesome girl, and tried to avoid conflict at any costs, but as far as her mind was aware, she had needed to cause trouble recently so she saw no harm in doing so again.

"Have you travelled far Mycroft?"

For a minute the teenager thought she had zoned out of the conversation for a minute, but the definite air of arrogance in the question proved Scarlett's theory that the conversation had been rapidly changed.

"Kent." The reply was curt and definitely not rhetorical in any sense. The other man- Sherlock if the conversation was anything to go by- ignored it.

"Your shoes told me that- Kent? Why Kent? You said she was in London"

Scarlett mirrored his tone in her expression. She didn't remember Kent or London for that matter.

"Kent was the nearest safe drop off point outside of the city. The hospital was nearby and the area was secluded. Our decision was justified and not to be criticised Sherlock. Let us keep the important stuff to my job."

The teenager didn't thin she liked Mycroft very much. By the sounds of it, neither did the third speaker. John.

"Kent isn't that far Mycroft. Two hours on the M25 at the most if the traffic is mediocre. Too noisy and not a far enough distance for a deep sleep. Are you keeping the real locations secret, because that's fine to obviously, but-"

"She is sedated John, "Mycroft interrupted, "Partly for her health but more for our safety."

Scarlett staggered to her feet, and tried her best to walk causally through the doorway. It didn't work. She half fell half jumped forward, hitting the doorway with one arm as she passed through. Without realising her slight slurring, Scarlett tried her best to act cool and spoke up.

"That would explain a lot. Ow!"

The reaction was immediate. John, the doctor judging by his expression, was at her side in an instant, asking her if she was OK and trying to get her to follow his finger with her pupils. She didn't care, and looked around the room instead; although she still didn't decline the arm now around her waist supporting her. Her tired eyes tried their best to analyse everything, but her vision was blurred and tunnelling. Instead she turned her attention back to the doctor, and at such close range managed to deduce with dimming pupils.

Everything faded but his concerned eyes, as she felt herself be lowered back to the floor. To her frustration she couldn't get back up- her legs and arms weren't responding any more. Trying to cling onto reality, Scarlett seized her chance as the doctor lent close to check her breathing.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" She whispered, before everything returned to darkness.

From across the room, Mycroft looked down with his usual lack of emotion, while Sherlock smiled before sweeping back out of the room in search of coffee - at least for Mrs Hudson. Perhaps this new burden may not be quite as dull as he had imagined.

**I know, I know. A bit of a cliché ending, but it wouldn't go away so I had to put it in. Please review or PM or shout really loudly! **

**Thanks again!**


	3. Don't Eat The Sedative Cereal

**Hi again. I am really overwhelmed by the response to this, albeit short so far story. I know it must probably seem like nothing but nothing I have ever written has got such good reviews. So thank you for that.**

**Also, sorry! I know it has been ages but life got decidedly complicated right when it shouldn't have, so I was caught up with that. Oh and then my computer died, so I had to make peace with my Mum's laptop which now hates me for using it day and night to write with. But as a plus point it is the holidays now for me and as I have a very small social life beyond the internet, I have a lot of spare time.**

**There may be some mistakes in this fanfic, which I can only apologise for. As I said, this laptop hates every breath of my being, and so makes spellcheck rebel. Please notify me to any errors and I will be only too happy to rectify them.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

**Thank you to:**

**PotterSherlocketc**

**Don't skip French! Just boycott all writing and speaking assessments for Sherlock related stuff. That's what I do and I get quite good marks :)**

**Starthorn**

**I see Scarlett as 15. I am 14 personally and I get referred to as a young adult quite a bit but I guess that might not be the same for everyone. So yeah 15. Thanks as well for the continued support.**

**Ohthatfangirl**

**Don't die! Look see, I am writing more!**

**Hello Oh That Fangirl**

**Well I can't promise the end quite yet, but if you are in it for the long hall I hope that this chapter is up to as good a standard!**

**Thanks once again and enjoy:**

John Watson sat on the stiff leather chair with a mug of cold tea resting between his palms. He had made the hot drink almost two hours ago, but had not bothered to reheat it-despite the luxury of having milk and an uncontaminated fridge.

221C was quiet and carried the poignant smell of recently dried paint; and as John sat and stared at the new leather sofa opposite him, he wondered in earnest how or when the redecorating had taken place. Not two weeks ago, this flat had been dark, damp and filled with the first clue to a string of crimes concluding in semtex. John sighed and glanced out into the abyss of his mind.

Both of the Holmes brothers had retreated upstairs to battle it out in Sherlock's own flat-something that probably should have concerned John considering the whereabouts of the detective's gun. Whatever the type of warfare proceeding two floors up, John did not want to be involved in it-despite the fact that by leaving them alone together did leave him successfully in the dark about the whole affair. Again.

In normal circumstances this problem would have solved itself when he had verbally pinned Sherlock down in the cab to wherever they were going and forced him to spill the beans as it were; however in this particular situation, the doctor wasn't sure that it was going to be that easy.

His glance fell down to the unconscious teenager lying on the sofa in front of him. While they had swished off in their big black coats, he had been left with a girl he didn't even know the name of and a large amount of paperwork. He hadn't bothered to flick through it, deciding that he would leave the hefty sheets of documentation to his flatmate to trawl through. Trying to envisage Sherlock with reading glasses organising files amused John despite its unrealistic nature; and he smiled slightly.

The said teenager was set in what was once the recovery position before she had had to be moved to the sofa; her dark hair pooling around her shoulders as she slept. John looked at her for a few minutes, subconsciously checking her breathing by counting the breaths; before he stood up, set his mug on the coffee table separating them, and crossed over to the kitchen.

He did not bother to be silent as he reached for a bowl and cutlery, as he knew that whatever as in the teenager's system wouldn't be affected by noise. The kitchen was in itself, as spotless as the rest of the flat. Despite the peace and order that it created, the doctor did not care for it. He had gotten used to the clutter; the science experiments and the lab equipment. John poured himself cereal.

"*"

Scarlett blinked awake to a sideways world. Not disfigured, minor the vague distortion at the edges of her vision, but physically sideways. Whimpering slightly as her body played tag with her mind, slowly relaying areas of hurt and pain to her buzzing central hub. Her brain wasn't happy, as it was forced to start filing and answering complaints to aid the unorganized chaos's end.

Four gunshots resonated through her 'office', interrupting the mental machines and setting off alarm bells. Scarlett's mind went into lockdown efficiently and quickly, before activating autopilot. She was at the door to the room before she realised she had left the comfort of the sofa; despite the pain her joints were letting her have insight to.

With slightly stiff fingers, she tried the door. It was locked. From the outside. Scarlett swallowed and breathed through her nose as she forced her emotions back into the closet. Her senses on full alert, she realised someone had come up behind her. Someone who was reaching their-no, his- hand out to touch her, grab her, capture her. Again.

The teen let her legs buckled beneath her, as she closed her eyes and let her body go still. She felt and saw through what she could hear and feel, someone catching her. It was almost instant, so it was obviously a well known action. A doctor then, but not by the state of his hands. They were rough and calloused. So someone who had once been succumbed to strong work. Not recently though. So an army doctor perhaps. Then it clicked. She had done this before. So her scenery hadn't changed. The man now supporting her was the same man who had looked at her with a trained eye the first time. Interesting.

John had followed the girl across the living room, completely mesmerised by her automatic response to the sound of guns. Mycroft hadn't mentioned guns in the very short briefing that he had entitled John to. Perhaps, John mused, the government official didn't know. He had watched as she reached the door quickly, before reaching out to her as she swayed slightly upon finding the door locked. The response to what the doctor presumed was his won gesture was instant. The girl had reeled backwards into his arms, before lying completely still.

Back in the present, John shifted his weight slightly so that he could continue to support the teenager in his arms, before calling for Sherlock.

He was interrupted mid shout by something large and heavy hitting him directly in the face. As he staggered back form the blow-his vision swimming- John felt the body previously in his arms twist out of his hold and scampered to the other side of the room. As his vision and his senses cleared, the doctor pressed a hand to his throbbing nose, and swore as blood dripped past his fingers.

Crossing the room while delicately swaying, John made his way in the general direction of the kitchen. However before he could get even half way through the living room, he was stopped by a packet of tissues being thrown at him from behind the sofa with a muffled apology to accompany them.

With a baffled expression plastered to his bloodied face, John picked up the tissues before making his way into the kitchen, and over the sink.

"*"

10 minutes later and there was still no sign of Sherlock, but also no sign of the blood leaving his nose anymore. Turning around with a tissue still pressed against his nose, John swore again into the tissue as he was met with two curious eyes staring at him from the archway to the kitchen. The girl was leaning against the wall with a guilty expression on her face and a large file under her arm. John made as if to say something but was cut off by the teenager.

"Sorry about your nose," she said softly, "I wasn't aiming for it."

John smiled slightly, gesturing that his nose was for the moment, perfectly intact. The teenager didn't look that reassured, and still vividly apologetic.

"It's a bit of a reflex action I'm afraid. I…actually no, never mind." She smiled lightly again as she stared at the doctor, wringing her hands around the white folder in her arms.

John glanced at her properly for the first time. She looked, from a distance, as average as a teenager could be; but up close small things just didn't add up. She was evidently nervous, which wasn't exactly unusual, but at the same time she had the confidence to tackle a fully grown military man. Admittedly she probably didn't know his military background but even so, it didn't seem like something an obviously nervous character would try to execute and succeed in.

She was also thin. John wasn't sure of the latest trends for weight and appearance within the younger generations, but he was pretty sure that the 'latest look' was not a mixture of skeletal bodies and bruised muscles. Apart from that she was actually quite pretty, in an obscure kind of way. John could not put his finger on quite what differentiated her from any other girl her age that he had encountered-not that he had encountered many. If it were not for her general body language and the obvious surreal circumstances she was in, he presumed it would be her eyes.

They were a common blue, similar to his flatmates although slightly darker in comparison to his crystal irises. Usually it was the eyes that showed the true emotion of a person, but this girl's eyes were bland and dull. They stared at John as he stared back, without any kind of spirit or innocence expected of a person her age. It unnerved John, not that he wanted that to be shown openly.

"So," he finally managed to come up with after his short inner turmoil of what to say," What's your name then?"

Scarlett froze. She hadn't considered this. A name. For the last 18 months of her life she had been living under pseudonyms and creative but completely imaginary storylines. As far as she was aware, another one would be waiting for alongside numerous other documents in her white folder; but she could hardly get it out to look at it. Not with the kindly army doctor looking straight at her and trying to be as normal as possible if his shifty behaviour and obviously hectic lifestyle were anything to go by.

So what to choose. She could go for another far fetched name, buried deep within the closet of her mind dedicated solely for this purpose; but something was stopping her. This place seemed different. She didn't know why-perhaps the complete lack of a backstory to greet her was a key factor- but she was becoming increasingly reluctant to just invent a new, light headed and generally annoying character. That was both dull and difficult. Scarlett made a snap decision.

"Sorry. I had to think there for a bit. Probably something to do with the drug currently making its way around my systems. It's Scarlett. Scarlett Holmes."

Sticking out her hand as confidently as she could, Scarlett shook John's hand quickly, before glancing up at his sceptical face with a smile. This man was better than she had thought.

"Is that your real name?" he questioned.

Scarlett looked directly at him, letting the tiniest slither of her real personality through-lighting up her eyes in the process.

"No, but it's as close as you are going to get. Nice to meet you Dr John Watson….Captain."

John sighed humorously-there was never a need to introduce yourself to a Holmes. Then it dawned on him, "So you are a Holmes then. Another one. "

"Nope," Scarlett smiled. Well…officially yes, but I can't stand the older one and the younger one has never been introduced to me so…"

John laughed. Scarlett joined him and then stopped suddenly, looking confused.

"I'm forgetting something. Not sure what yet, it's as if the message hasn't got any signal. Um, um um," She pondered as she paced lightly, depositing the file onto the coffee table as she went past it.

John went as if to eat his now very soggy cereal, leaving the bemused teenager to her musing as he tried to eat his breakfast.

"Oh!" Scarlett exclaimed form the far corner of the flat-her final destination after her frustrated steps. Looking over to John and the milk saturated rice puffs, she let herself run across the room, use the momentum of her run to propel herself over the sofa; and knock the bowl and spoon out of John's hand. The said items clattered to the floor, spilling milk and cereal everywhere. John refrained from yelling his confusion; instead raising his now empty hands in a baffled manner.

"Sorry," Scarlett apologised again. "I don't usually prohibit my neighbours eating my food. However, I didn't buy any of this, so there is a high chance that it is all drugged."

"Ah," John stated." Fair point. Has this happened before then?"

Scarlett nodded, seeming tired as her form sagged. "This is my 16th relocation since November 2009."

The flat was quiet, as John reviewed her last statement in his head, and Scarlett just remained silent.

Then the door crashed open, as a gun wielding detective swept through.

John swore and stepped backward, further into the kitchen and away from the milk and cereal deposit on the tiled flooring. Scarlett spun around on her heels, coming face to face the barrel of gun; which she then promptly stared down.

Sherlock glared at the teenager, not bothering to analyse her as long as she presented a threat to his flatmate. With one eye, he observed the scene; noticing the scattered crockery and food; as well as the slight traces of blood around John's nose and the tissue protruding form the bin. Glancing at John as he adjusted his grip on his, or rather John's pistol- he received a confused nod that his flatmate and blogger was in fact fine.

Sherlock's glance was swiftly directed back to the teenager when she chuckled, and then bit her lip to try to hold it in. To Sherlock's masked astonishment, and John's amusement, Scarlett had managed to cross the entire length of the living room and back again to retrieve her precious file, all in the time it took the great detective to check on the welfare of his friend.

She was now flicking through the file, occasionally glancing up at Sherlock and then back at whatever it was that she was reading incredibly quickly. Sherlock was clearly irritated.

"What?" he snapped, as the teenager giggled again.

"Hm?" Scarlett looked up," Oh, nothing."

Sherlock, John 'deduced', looked decidedly irked.

"Who are you," he questioned.

Scarlett smirked, and at that point John could see that as far as annoying his flatmate was concerned, he and the teen would most definitely get on.

"Aren't you going to deduce it, detective?" She questioned in an almost sign-song voice. Sherlock snarled under his breath, much to his flatmates continued amusement.

"Tell. Me. Your. Name!" the younger man threatened. Scarlett stared up at him as he glared back. Finally, she sighed.

"My name," she started, "Is Scarlett Holmes. Hello big brother."

**Yay for the ever lasting hanging of the cliff. Please review or PM or use semaphore or something to tell me what you thought, as this chapter was one of those ones where I wasn't really sure whether it was any good or not.**

**Keep Sherlocking On!**

**Grace**


	4. Take Me To The Excellent Beverages

**Hello once again everyone. Because it is the holidays and because I have finally realised that not being productive results in extreme levels of boredom, I have written another chapter. The demon laptop is still in play and so any spelling mistakes are a perfect example of it's evil plans that I am trying my best to complicate. Thank you to everyone who is reading this anonymous or otherwise.**

**Many extended thanks to:**

**aliceAmnesia**

**Thanks and here is the 'more' you were requesting :)**

**Amirizar2003**

**Hopefully you will also not see this coming O.o**

**Ohthatfangirl**

**Hooray for living- I promise it is not thanks as always**

**PotterSherlocketc**

**Yay for Sherlock v.s Teenagers {[:) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

**Enjoy as always…**

As he always managed to, Mycroft Holmes chose the perfect, tense moment to swan into the now crowed flat; briefcase and umbrella in hand. As he paced over to the trio doing silent, chaotic battle in the centre of the living room, his expression changed to that of muffled disgust, to a haughty glare.

John was the only one to pick up on this, and so decided the best option was to stay out of the impending conversation completely. He made as if to leave the basement flat, but was stopped by an outstretched arm from the older Homes. The doctor sighed and took a seat.

Sherlock, hearing the slight kafuffle from behind him and his gun, glanced around surreptitiously; before supressing a groan. Scarlett quietly disarmed his gun as he turned her face neutral and seemingly a lot younger than before. The bullets were dropped casually into her trouser pocket. The flat was silent.

Mycroft cleared his throat indignantly, before resting a trained eye over the two flatmates and the teenager. Both John and Sherlock stared back expectantly. Scarlett breathed out through her teeth in frustration and took a seat next to John; shrugging her shoulders at the doctor as she did so. She had this spiel before.

"It is clear that you have already introduced yourself," Mycroft began," Which only saves me the time a name would have taken, as I am quite sure that 'Scarlett' would not have been very specific with details."

John looked over at the discussed girl, who appeared to be muttered obscenities under her breath, all of which were dedicated to the government official. If the said and had heard them, which was unlikely given their pitch, he was ignoring them.

"What Scarlett has surely lacked to tell you, is that she has certain…attributes shall we say, that would be deemed desirable by many governments; including ours. Upon her reaching 18, number 48243 in the most recent of military plans, will become a valuable aid to our society as a whole. However until this point, she must be kept away from enemy buyers. This is where you, darling brother, come into this."

Sherlock stood up abruptly, already preparing the ammunition of dietary quips and downright anger to refuse his brother's responsibilities; but was stopped by the responsibility in question walking up to his brother and slapping him. Hard.

"I am no one's responsibility but my own Mr Holmes," She threatened, her voice quiet with anger, "Nor am I a number of a purchasable good. And I wish it to stay that way. "

Scarlett swept from the living room, down the corridor to the bedroom at the far end. John winced lightly as the door slammed behind her.

Mycroft placed a delicate hand to his own cheek with an expression of what looked like shock, before turning back to his brother.

"You must keep her safe at all costs. She has been living with pseudonyms and fake lives for the past two years, but her cover has been blown consistently. I have had the finest profilers working on this particular scenario for months. You cannot mess it up Sherlock. Mummy would be most displeased."

"Mummy?" Sherlock questioned, sounding faintly alarmed." How does she know?"

"I told her," Mycroft supplied as the understatement of the century. John, who had once again found himself in a match of intellectual ping pong between the two brothers, coughed lightly before speaking up.

"Sorry for being, well, average really, but surely telling a smaller number of people as possible would make a cover story last longer?"

Mycroft smiled at John in the patronising way that only he could.

"You are as always presumptuous Dr Watson. A cover story needs all angles to be covered in order to replicate a real scenario as I am sure you can understand. In this case, my, or rather now your responsibility has more than one cover story, each of which needs a fitting background. As far as the rest of the Holmes family is aware, Sherlock now has a daughter and they have a granddaughter to call their own. "

"WHAT!" Sherlock interrupted loudly. "I will not partake in this madness Mycroft. Send her somewhere else; I want nothing to do with her or your plans. And tell mother that there was some kind of mistake and that she is now without a child to smother in kind irrelevance. "

John sighed and put his head in his hands. He could feel the headache coming on already and realised that coffee would probably be a good idea.

"Mycroft would it be better if we sorted this out over tea perhaps. "

Mycroft looked over and sneered slightly, before remembering to be polite.

"That would be…pleasant, yes. Perhaps your landlady could arrange something for us in your flat."

John smiled quietly as he realised the direct avoidance of anything in the well stocked kitchen not two metres from them. So Scarlett had been right about the drugged food.

Sherlock and his brother left the flat, the younger calling for his blogger as he climbed the stairs to 221B. Reluctantly, and thinking of all the other things he could be doing on a pleasant Friday morning, John followed.

"*"

Scarlett closed her eyes and sighed as she leant up against the door to what she presumed was now her room. She was well and truly fed up of this; the chases and the imprisonment; the names and the life stories; Mr Mycroft Holmes. Her life may well be interesting, but Scarlett would do anything for just a bit of normalcy.

The teenager looked around the room. It was bland, just like the rest of the flat, and a large proportion of it was taken up by boxes and scattered furniture. Pacing over to the bed, Scarlett picked up a long piece of red ribbon, vaguely remembering hazy fingers untying it hours before. It seemed poignant to the girl, but seeing as she couldn't work out why, it was instead used as a hair tie.

With her hair now out of her face, Scarlett realised that she was wearing what appeared to be pyjamas of some kind. The teen frowned. That was just great. She had just slapped one of the most important people in Britain while in her pyjamas. Scarlett sighed and began to dig around and in boxes to find something more suitable to wear.

Half an hour later and Scarlett was back in the sitting room, now wearing black jeans, knee high boots and a red checked shirt. The room in question was completely bare, minor the leather sofa and chairs; as well as a desk and small table. The teenager had already inspected the rest of the flat, to find it mostly the same. How dull.

Sitting with her head resting on her knees, waiting for something to happen, Scarlett once again delved into her mind.

"*"

"MI6 training, two months as an anonymous informant to the MET policeman week long trial period with the MOD, God Sherlock this is serious." John said as he flicked through Scarlett's white folder. Sherlock ignored him, instead focusing open the teenager now lying vertically on the sofa, eyes closed and arms draped over the side of the furniture.

"She can pick a lock in 30 seconds; decode a sequence in under a minute; tell someone's personality just by looking at them…Sherlock…Sherlock are you even listening to me?"

The detective wasn't listening, or paying attention at all for that matter. His focus was directed towards the teenager. Reaching out with one hand, he grabbed her wrist lightly and took her pulse. Normal, not reduced as it would be if she was asleep. Sherlock looked up as John shouted his name, loudly, and clearly irritably.

"Sherlock? You haven't been listening to a thing I was saying have you?" The doctor hesitated as he took in what he was witnessing. Mainly Sherlock caring. " Is she alright? "

"What," Sherlock said distractedly," Oh…yes…sleeping."

He lied effortlessly as he stepped back from the girl and took the file from John's hands. Sighing as his flatmate finally started to pay attention to the folder and its contents; John began to list what he already knew.

"She's 15 and has an above average IQ. She has been 'government property' for the last six months officially, but somehow Mycroft got hold of her for a year or so before. She has no noted medical conditions and she's-"

"Hungry," interrupted Scarlett, as she leant against the wall next to the sofa. She looked ever so slightly dazed, but her eyes were bright and her overall demeanour awake.

"Oh," John ended up saying, "Well…um…"

Scarlett smiled lightly.

"Sorry to spring that on you. I usually come up with weirder things when I am interrupted. "She apologised.

Sherlock looked up from the file.

"Interrupted from what?"

"It's…complicated. Um…how do I describe this? It's kind of like a library. In my mind. With everything I need to know in it. It must sound mad." She made an attempt at a laugh but it wavered and ended with Sherlock's curious expression.

"And this 'library'. It helps you think?" He pressed.

Scarlett nodded. "Usually. I was re-organising it when you came in. Drugs make it disorganised, so it was a mess."

Sherlock nodded in understanding, while John stared again. Mycroft had categorically explained over tea that Scarlett Holmes was by no means a relative; but when in comparison to his flatmate, John had his suspicions.

"No, if you were wondering," Scarlett interrupted his trail of thought. "Definitely no relation."

Sherlock smiled from his place across from her, before turning on his heels and walking towards the open door.

"The café upstairs serves excellent beverages, I am told. The owner is also my landlady, she can, without doubt, find you something to eat."

Scarlett pulled the coat she had bought with her to the living room onto her shoulders, before following the man out of the flat.

"Lead on Mr Holmes. Take me to your 'excellent beverages'."

**So I hope you all enjoyed the latest shenanigans. I know I had a satisfying feeling writing it, especially some parts (sorry Mycroft-couldn't resists and we all knew it was going to happen sooner or later.) **

**Please review , or PM, or hack into the world's computers and tell me your views through code…**


	5. Notes of Absence

**Hi.**

**I apologise to any who are interested for the untimely wait between this chapter and the last. I received what was to me an overwhelming response to my last chapter, although unfortunately not all of it was good. This has naturally meant that I now believe that this chapter is pretty bad. It is however all that I could come up with in my confused state. The fact that I am also in rural Devon with nothing imperative to do and a stack of books may also not have helped. Any how I hope I have not plagued you with my angsty feelings that kept me up till 2.00am pondering. **

**In response to the reviews I did get:**

**Amirizar2003**

**I had never heard of dark angel but Google helped and it looks really good! Definitely something for my interests to pursue. Thanks.**

**LeeAnnNS**

**I am sorry. I am not sure what else to say apart from that really. I am not just inserting myself, because I know the fault at which the story then befalls to. Scarlett is completely different to me, and so her character likes and dislikes obviously vary from mine. I find Mycroft strangely sweet and endearing in his care for his brother; but because he has made a good proportion of Scarlett's life hell, she hates him. If you had read beyond chapter two you would have found out about my character. I was trying to sue suspense. I can only apologise if that did not work. **

**TheLastRider**

**Lots of reviews to reply to so thanks I think. It was nice to hear your thoughts about the summary, as I was unsure of this. Why should I rename the chapter? Her relation to the Holmes family is merely a pseudoyn, an alias if yiu must. Her real name and identity is unknown to Sherlock and John, and Mycroft being Mycroft is doing little to help the situation. Why she is wanted by the government is still to be found out. She does have a special mind, as does Sherlock as you pointed out. That is the point. Her mind is her weapon and her salvation, nothing more or less. She is 15 because as I have mentioned I am 1 and while I am a serious and mature teenager I didn't feel that my character could be portrayed accurately if she was an age that I am not even close to.**

**PotterSherlocketc**

**Thank you! Your review really meant a lot. I hope your flight was not to bad!**

**Ohthatfangirl**

**Thanks. Your review was really nice after getting the negative criticism that I got. You have been very supportive, whether you knew it or not. Poem's looking good!**

**Hannah**

**Hi! It's nice to know my anonymous reviewers as well! Thanks for enjoying my book really. Your opinion really does count, and your review made me smile a lot!**

**So here is the next chapter. Criticise or praise at will.**

The harsh light of dozens of streetlights bathed parts of the London pavement in a artificial glow. From the centre of the city, and as a muffled murmur from the distant motorways, the sound of early morning traffic crystallised on the cold spring dawn air as it resonated down the side streets of the capital. Scarlett Holmes unlatched the road facing window to her basement flat, before fastening her jacket and climbing nimbly out of the small opening and into the night. Her footsteps echoed in her ears as she walked away from Baker Street, the otherwise quiet roads causing her own movements to be incredibly loud to her own hearing. The teenager ignored her own interruption of the peace as she continued on with fast paced strides, the early morning frost biting at her as she pulled her coat closer to her.

The day had passed uneventfully. After a breakfast that had met with both her own and it seemed Sherlock's expectations in the small but pleasant café upstairs, the detective and his flatmate had retreated back to their own flat; leaving Scarlett with nothing to do. This calm however was rudely interrupted by sixteen cardboard boxes filled with items that the teen then had to find places for n what was now her flat an hour or so later. While the numerous family photos of the Holmes family had been intriguing to find initially, the job soon became dull-constant filing of documents and placing of books and meaningless sentimental items around the flat would never cease to bore the girl.

Once everything was pretty much in place, and the flat was just as boring if a little more cluttered than it was before; Scarlett had contemplated going out, but just as she was digging around in the last of the boxes for a key, John had come down to ask why their were two removal men sipping tea in the hallway. The teenager had let the empty boxes stacked up around the flat and a well meaning shrug answer him, before abandoning her coat and relenting to tea upstairs while the consulting detective was out.

So that was how after staying for takeaway and consoling to a one sided conversation with her 'brother', Scarlett was going to fetch her grocery shopping at 2.00am. Thank goodness for 24 hour supermarkets, the teenager mused as she picked up a basket and ignored the looks of the few people still in the shop. For a minute Scarlett mentally scoffed the few men and the one stressed woman for having nothing better to do then come shopping, but then realised how hypocritical she was being and told her mind to shut up.

Just as she was rounding the bread isle at the very back of the extensive store, Scarlett noticed something amiss. And in amiss she meant illegal. A teenager a little older than herself was stuffing packets of paracetamol down his shirt. Sighing in frustration at her own moral code, the teen pout down her basket of groceries and walked up to him, reaching up slightly to tap him on the shoulder.

The youth turned and sneered at the younger girl, before swatting her away absentmindedly. Scarlett caught his arm and kept it twisted slightly as she addressed him purposely.

"You're not allowed to do that," she said calmly.

The youth scoffed and turned fully to face Scarlett fully, snatching his arm back as he did so. Loose packets of the medicines fell from his sleeves as he moved, causing the young man to swear and look around him. Scarlett rolled her eyes at his idiotic actions. The back of a badly lit supermarket was hardly one of the busiest places in London. Turning back to her, the youth looked down at her from underneath his hood and leered.

"Yeah? And what you gonna do about it?"

Scarlett smiled sweetly.

"I'm going to stop you of course."

"Yeah? How? You're just a kid. I could beat you any day?"

Scarlett shrugged.

"Maybe. But would you really hit a girl?"

The youth lunged for her but Scarlett blocked the hit, before kicking his feet out from under him. The boy groaned from his crumpled position, still swearing quietly at the younger teen. The swearing quickly turned to whimpering as Scarlett crouched down to his level of the floor.

"I didn't think so," Scarlett whispered in his ear, "Have a nice evening."

Scarlett stood up, picked up her basket and went to pay, leaving the pained young adult in her wake.

"*"

Dawn was just breaking once Scarlett finally got back to Baker Street. After an argument with an actual checkout, whereupon the teenager told the barely conscious cashier that just because she was shopping in the early hours of the morning, did not mean that she was hallucinating about the thief near the back of the shop. Once the argument and the items had been accounted for, the teenager had been stopped by builders and newspaper sellers bustling past her and her bag of shopping as she returned to Baker Street.

John Watson was waited with arms crossed as she quietly unlocked the door and made her way down the stairs.

"Where have you been?" he asked sternly. Scarlett stopped and turned around to find the doctor in a dressing gown and pyjamas looking especially cross.

"Pardon?" she said confused.

"Well did you not think to leave a note if you were going out? I know your life isn't exactly normal but shouldn't it be common courtesy when it is obvious that your guardians find your bed empty and you no where to be seen to at least send us a text."

Scarlett sighed and put her bag down on the stairs.

"Sorry. Although technically you are not my guardian. Mr Holmes is."

"Yes well the documentation says I am." John interjected still evidently miffed at the teenagers blasé reaction. "What were you doing anyway?"

Scarlett gestured to her shopping bag.

"I was getting edible food."

"Oh, "John replied," Mycroft said that everything was fine to eat."

"Yes but Mycroft also said that I would be going for a day trip to a government building which then turned into two years with subsequent foster families while the said government try and fail to turn me into some kind of government machine; all the while telling my parents that I had been admitted into a state of the art overseas boarding school. I very rarely believe anything Mycroft Holmes says. Have a nice morning Dr Watson."

The teenager swept up her bag as she descended to her flat, unlocked the door in silence and shut it firmly behind her.

Pacing across to the kitchen , Scarlett put the entire shopping bag in the fridge, not caring about the fact that at some point she would probably have to then stomach slightly frozen bread; sat down in the furthest corner of the living room for the door; breathed out shakily; and let the tears fall.

**So as I said I am not to sure about this chapter. Any feedback would be great! **

**-GraceSong**


	6. Contracts and Case Files

**Hello again Internet. First of all, SORRY! I know it has been literally months since I last updated, and I am sorry for that. I don't really have an excuse, apart from GCSEs migraines and sleep. **

**This chapter is a little different, because I have decided to do a small crossover within this fic with the BBC show New Tricks. It won't be that necessary for you to watch it, and in some respects it might help if you don't because I am a newbie when it comes to it and so will probably get stuff wrong. **

**Replies:**

**PotterSherlocketc: Thanks as always, and as a side note thank you so much for motivating me. Seriously without you Scarlett probably would never have come back!**

**LeeAnsNS: I have nothing else to say to you. We are both equal to our own opinions and I respect that as I hope you do.**

**MegaTigger98: Yes I do know who and I thank you for it. **

**TheLastRider: All will be revealed at some point, but if I explained it all now I would ruin it for you, which I do not want to do.**

**Ohthatfangirl: Thanks. Your support has really meant a lot {[:D**

**Disclaimer:****I do not own any aspect of Sherlock or New Tricks, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

Scarlett was bored. This was, in itself, nothing new. For the past two years she had hardly been occupied- at least not with anything interesting. Nothing however compared to the ultimate sense of her mind slowly rotting that was bounding across her thoughts as she lay sprawled on her sofa while outside the rain poured down. Two days had passed since she had had to stomach frozen bread for breakfast, and in that time Scarlett was proud to say that she had done almost nothing productive. Instead she had worn a small hole in the carpet pacing; caused the smoke alarm to go off when working out how exactly the waffle maker worked; and had written the alphabet 286 times on the bedroom door. This had taken her the best part of an hour, and she had come out of it with nothing-apart from the fact that the waffle maker was definitely not what it said it was, and that the kitchen ceiling would really need cleaning.

Scarlett sighed and stared at the clean lounge ceiling. This was getting ridiculous. Two days in a flat that could easily be completely ran around in under two minutes- 1.56 seconds precisely- and the utter lack of anything interesting to do was going to be the end of her. Her _guardians _upstairs had forbidden her from going out without one of them with her, and seeing as they seemed like the kind of people who would follow and question everything she did, she was avoiding that last resort. Besides, according to Mycroft Holmes, she had everything a teenager would ever need. This was obviously not his area of expertise because even with the slightly odd life that Scarlett led, she was pretty sure that 'the top ten list of things for teens' didn't include a gun.

From somewhere upstairs, the doorbell rang. Scarlett looked around from her relaxed position and listened to the sound of footsteps in the hall almost directly above her. As the footsteps stopped short of 221B's stairs, and then began to shift awkwardly from one to the other, the teenager smiled and went to find her coat.

"*"

Sherlock adjusted his scarf as he took the stairs two at a time. John followed behind him, knowing not to question his flatmates decision to up sticks halfway through breakfast to visit St Bart's morgue for the latest case. He knew that his jibe about the popularity of his website in recent months had irritated his friend, and so instead of insisting that he finished his tea before they went off to gallivant around London for the day, John had followed the instruction to "Come along, John" and was now finding himself jogging down the stairs while simultaneously trying to shrug on his coat.

A taxi was waiting for the pair as they shut the door behind them. Scarlett was waiting in the taxi. As the two men opened the door and began to pile in, Scarlett closed down the game of Sudoku on her phone and smiled.

"Good morning Mr Holmes, Dr Watson." She acknowledged as they stared at her, "I hope you don't mind that I hailed a taxi in advance. It just felt like it was something I should do, being in London and all."

"What are you doing here?" John sighed in frustration as the cab pulled out from the pavement and into the maze of Central London's streets.

Scarlett looked at him, feigning confusion as he and Sherlock looked at her for answers. Both expressions showed to the teenager that they really didn't want her to be there. She ignored them.

"You are going to meet your police friend to discuss a case, and I am coming with you because I am bored out of my brain in the flat."

"No." John stated with as much parental authority as he could. "Crime scenes are dangerous, and besides, we don't need a teenager to hang around distracting everyone."

"I understand that. I am of no use to anyone in the circumstances that you are both employed in, "John grunted in agreement as he settled back in his seat, "However the second clause of the contract you both signed to say that you are my parental guardians clearly states that I cannot be left for a prolonged period of time unaccompanied. Mrs Hudson is at a garden party in Kent and you are both 'otherwise occupied'. I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

"You read the contract?" Sherlock questioned dubiously.

"Of course I did. Two days with nothing of importance to do and a folder of paperwork. What would you do?"

"Shoot something," Sherlock replied as he stared out the window at the passing traffic. John glared at him for a minute, before pressing his hands to his temple and sighing.

"I can see if Lestrade has anything you can do. It won't be interesting, making coffee probably, but it's better than nothing. I'll call him; see if we can work something out."

The cab slowed as they twisted and turned throughout London's streets.

"*"

"So you're the freak's little sister?"

Scarlett looked up from her lap as twenty minutes later; she was in a police car on the way to somewhere official. Next to her, a woman with tanned skin and a mass of curled dark hair slowly disintegrated the intelligence from the passengers of the vehicle one sentence at a time.

"What?" Scarlett mumbled distractedly, "Oh, um, yes. Yes I am."

"So do you do it to?"

"What?"

"That creepy thing he does. Telling you your life story just by looking. "

"Oh, no. Only he and his brother can do that," She lied smoothly.

"It must be annoying then; him always telling you where you've been and what you've done."

"Yes," Scarlett agreed while silently praying that the journey ended soon.

"Well I feel sorry for you. It must be hell having to live with him. If you ever want to chat though, girly advice, all that. I'm only a call away."

Scarlett shuddered inwardly as the car pulled to a stop. She really didn't want to think about what she might find if she ever chanced to call upon her new 'friend'. Probably the snivelling forensic officer who had been hovering behind the detective inspector she had been introduced to as Lestrade. As the door was opened for her, the teen tried her best to erase that thought from her memory. Pulling her coat around her to fend off the early summer drizzle, Scarlett looked up at the proud Victorian building expectantly.

"Ah, thank you Sergeant Donovan, I can take it from here."

Scarlett whirled around as a new voice turned her attention to the doorway of the building. Donovan retreated, smiling a sickly smile at Scarlett as she left. The 15 year olds' gaze was distracted by a hand being offered to her and an introduction being thrown in her direction.

"Deputy Assistant Commissioner Robert Strickland. I hear you will be joining my team for the week."

Scarlett took the outstretched hadn't and shook it lightly, while looking at the middle aged man introducing himself.

"Nice to meet you. Sorry, did you say a week?"

"Yes," Strickland confirmed as he ushered her into the building. "One week, as part of your work experience Miss Holmes."

So that was how Sherlock had managed to find somewhere for her to go so quickly, Scarlett mused as she was lead through bustling corridors and past flustered staff.

"Scarlett, please, "She smiled lightly before realising something, "This is going to sound mad but where exactly am I? My… brother hasn't really told me anything."

"Hmm, I heard it was all a bit last minute," Strickland stopped outside an opaque glass door. "No matter though, you're here now and that's all that's important. Scarlett, welcome to UCOS."

**So as always please review or use semaphore to tell me what you thought. I hope it made up for the month long wait!**

**GraceSong **


	7. In Need of Redecoration

**Hi everyone. First of all, sorry. I have neglected you and this novel for a good part of two months, without any real excuse other than taking up Nanowrimo and then trying aimlessly to sort my life out in general. So here I am back again, hoping that you haven't all given up on me. My updating may be nothing less of sporadic, but I enjoy writing this and have so many ideas. Maybe stick with me a little longer?**

**This chapter by the way is dedicated to the anonymous reader DH who gave me some simply wonderful advice but whom I neglected to thank. I am very sorry and I really want you to know if you are still reading that I appreciated your words very much. **

**Helloohthatfangirl: Thanks. UCOS will be explained a little more in this chapter and isn't directly related to Sherlock but they could easily coexist so I stuck them together. It comes from a TV show called New Tricks, which I thoroughly recommend!**

**Anyway, to quote the annoying woman on Holby City (another reason why I have not updated- curse you TV) Onwards!**

"Well, I had best be off," Robert Strickland broke the temporary silence in the small office. Scarlett looked up, first at him, and then at the woman sitting with an irritable expression on the other side of the desk.

"You can't just leave her here, sir," The woman sounded exasperated. The combined effect of the simply tedious car journey and the constant smell of lingering damp were quickly turning Scarlett to the same state.

"I understand your concern, Sandra," Strickland picked his coat up from where it had been delicately placed over an extended chair, "But she is to be left here, and you are to welcome her with open arms. Her brothers are of great use to the MET." His voice became pointlessly hushed as he leant forward to mutter something to 'Sandra' as apparently she was called, and in doing so got ever closer to the irritated teen. "We can't go jeopardising our partnership with them."

"Fine," Sandra sighed, "Fine. Just don't blame me if something happens to her and you get the paperwork."

"Nothing will go wrong," Strickland was already leaving the room, "I am counting on it."

Scarlet watched him leave, waited for a few seconds before a smile crept to the corner of her mouth as an echo of "Sir," reverberated into her ears. A slam ended the trailing conversation as Robert Strickland left.

"Right," The woman across from her stood up reluctantly and held out her hand. "Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman."

"Nice to meet you," Scarlett shook the hand tentatively. "Scarlett Holmes."

"Good," Sandra clearly didn't care that much. Scarlett didn't blame her really. She would really rather not be here either, so at least the feeling was mutual. "Welcome to UCOS, that's-"

"Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad, I know," Scarlett looking the older woman in the eye. A silent question was asked. The teenager sighed and gestured to the table.

"You have left a file open on your desk. From where I am standing I can only read the top line. 'Dear Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad…' Easy enough," She shrugged.

"And do you want to be in the police?" Sandra sat back at her desk.

"No."

"Then why are you here for work experience?" The older woman could feel annoyance creeping into her expression. God she needed a coffee.

"My brother left me here. Or rather he bundled me into a police car and told them to find me somewhere to keep me occupied for the week. We're not a close family," Scarlett looked around her at the office, trying not to deduce too much. It gave her a headache and with the jumble or aggravation and irritation from her 'brother's' cheap shrugging off of her already filling her mind with a dull moaning pain, she was trying her best to avoid a migraine.

"Well I suppose we can always get you to sort paperwork. It's not interesting but I bet it beats being with him," Sandra managed a small smile, which was quickly returned.

"Anything is better then hanging around with my brother. He's a clever idiot."

"Well then I am sure you will get on just fine with my team. If you can tolerate clever idiots that is."

Scarlett looked through the slightly opaque glass of the office. Three men pretende4d they weren't staring back.

"They aren't the friendlies bunch are they?" Scarlett commented, more to her self then then woman still looking at her with interests.

"No, well, it's early and they haven't had their morning coffee yet. Maybe you could do that?"

"OK," The teenager nodded with about as much enthusiasm as a sloth. "Which way is the kettle?"

Ten minutes later and the teen was executing a slightly wobbly balancing act with four cups of coffee and a tray. She made her way slowly back from the small kitchenette type side room and into the main office space. Three disgruntled faces greeted her upon her entrance.

"Your coffee," Scarlett said unnecessarily. The men grunted.

The dark haired girl set the mug of slightly milky coffee down on the table next to one of the men. He looked at her curiously.

"So you're here for work experience?" He took his drink, inspected the contents, before putting it back down untouched.

"Yes," Scarlett juggled the cups around in her grasp as she held out a hand. "Scarlett Holmes, nice to meet you."

"Holmes?" Another man piped up from behind her. Scarlett turned and nodded.

"Yes, Holmes."

"As in, Sherlock Holmes." The man sounded eager, excitable. Scarlett was confused.

"Erm, yes? I'm his sister."

"I've read all about him. His flatmate, he does a blog doesn't he. Brilliant read. Reminds me of the old days."

Scarlett remained confused. John had a blog?

"Sorry," The man got up and sounded almost unhappy with himself. "I must be confusing you," Scarlett nodded. "I'm Brian Lane. A big fan."

He shook her hand happily, causing Scarlett to smile instinctively and really want to run.

"Good, I think," She really didn't know what was going on. Why didn't she do her research?

"Do you thin you could get me his autograph?" Brian continued to pester as he beamed at her. His glasses slid down his nose a fraction at the sudden change in expression.

"My brother isn't really very cooperating," Scarlett was back in her own ground. She knew how to talk badly of Sherlock. It was like second nature and she'd only know him a week. "I could see."

"Great," Brian sounded immensely happy. Scarlett tried to empathise with him, before realising that she still really didn't know what she was meant to be so happy about. She smiled aimlessly.

The man on the other side of his desk sipped his drink, before clearing his throat to interrupt the conversation.

"Not bad," He waved the mug at the teenager, "Any chance of a biscuit."

Two days later and Scarlett walked back along Baker Street with a topped up Oyster Card in her pocket and a cake box balanced in her hands. She had kept to her word, or rather she had taken Jerry Standing's joke seriously and now supplied the UCOS team with a variety of cakes and biscuits on a daily basis. It wasn't as if they had many cases on at the moment. They could afford to eat cake.

After ringing the bell for Mrs Hudson to answer; being chastised by said woman for staying out too late; disagreeing with Mrs Hudson about whether 4.30pm was in fact late at all; and then descending to her flat; Scarlett was ready to put her feet up.

The key tuned in the lock as she leant on the door and pushed it open. A metallic smell hit her nostrils in a wave of nausea. She dropped the cake tin with a clang.

As the door sidled open, the cause of the smell became apparent. There was blood everywhere. Well, Scarlett thought as she stepped into the room with a critical if disgusted eye, everywhere may be a bit of an exaggeration. The gory mess extended from the centre of the lounge outwards. It ended at around the bathroom. Oh joyful.

Scarlett scanned the room. There wasn't a body. Not as far as she could see, or her instinct could tell her. As she turned back to the door, which had since swung shut again, oblivious to the mess it was hiding from the outside world, the teenager's blood ran cold.

There was a note. A note written in blood on the wall. It was fresh; in fact it was still dripping slightly. Despite the cliché of it all, Scarlett was scared. Oh rather, concerned. Very concerned. She stared at the wall. The wall stared back.

"Hello S." The grim announcement read, "How do you like my housewarming gift?"

**So hopefully this will finally go somewhere worth persuading. As always tell me what you think- any suggestions for what to happen next would be much appreciated.**


	8. A Tea Induced Runaway

**Hello all. Sorry about the long gap (again). I have been busy in the real world and was then held captive by flu squirrels. **

**I am not entirely sure about this chapter but I figured I can always rewrite it at some point and that pressing on would be much more productive in the long run.**

**Many thanks to:**

**aliceAmnesia: Hopefully I will not disappoint in future chapters-she is certainly epic enough, it's jut if I'll let her show it.**

**PotterSherlocketc: Thank you! I would say something about promising to update more but I would probably only break that promise so just thanks for now. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

"You have a blog," Scarlett sat on the stairs of 221B, watching yet more forensic equipment stroll past on their way to the bloodbath that had previously been her living room. John sighed as he came out from the basement flat to see its former occupants sitting with her head in her hands on the stairs. Two inquisitive if not a little glazed over eyes stared at him as their owner spoke.

"Yes," John replied cautiously as he sat down beside her, "Where is this going?"

"Oh, no where really, "Scarlett stretched out her legs as she watched a huddle of forensic suits hurrying past the threshold of her flat, "Just interested."

"Right," John paused while trying to think of the right wording. All of his doctor instincts were screaming 'shock!' and commanding him to bundle the teenager upstairs to monitor her carefully in a safe environment, but he had read Scarlet's file and knew that any attempt of bundling would end up with him the worse for wear.

"It's OK," Scarlett interrupted his thoughts, "I'm not in shock. I'm just wondering what to do next, that's all."

"Well may I make a suggestion," Scarlett gestured for John to do whatever the hell he wanted. He continued. "I think you should come upstairs and have a hot drink. Get away from this mess."

Scarlett remained silent, but got up and dusted off her jeans unnecessarily. After staring at the door to her flat and sighing, the teenager disappeared up the stairs and into 221B.

Sherlock stalked out of the basement flat. The forensics team apparently didn't have half a brain between them, and despite Lestrade's insistence that he could have any resources he wanted if he would just give him a verdict or at least a hint of a theory, it was late and Sherlock was not in the mood. Or rather, he was in the mood for solving the case but not behind hundreds of layers of police protocols. So he had refused to speak to anyone, taken a variety of pictures on his phone and then left. All in all, an unproductive evening for the MET police, but a very productive evening for the tallied numbers of ways to annoy them now staking up in the consulting detective's head. As the cries of the detective inspector faded into background noise, Sherlock Holmes grinned. Finally a case worth working, and so close to home.

John in his chair with a neglected rested across his knees. As the door to the flat announced the entrance of his flatmate, the doctor looked up and sighed. Sherlock had his 'case face' on. John had come to recognise this face- the slight upturning of the smile, the keen looks to and fro, the minutes pause before the oh so familiar-

"John, do we have any marshmallows?"

Wait, what?

John looked round at the detective in shock. He had been expecting the call to arms, the shout of 'the game is afoot and I will need you to stand behind me and look impressed while I make deductions' or something along those lines. Not a question about the availability of confectionary.

"Sherlock we barely ever have anything edible in our cupboards. Why would we have a type of sweet that neither of us likes?"

"Well we don't like garish colours but you still possess at least four frankly ghastly jumpers."

John stood up and looked down at his familiar woollen top. It didn't look garish. In fact green and beige tartan was anything but garish.

"You don't like it Sherlock," He was irritable, he was quite fond of his jumper collection and at least it wasn't all dark suits and purple shirts, "Not we, you."

"Same difference," Sherlock brushed away the conversation with a bored gesture of a forensic gloved hand, "Not that it matter anyway, you always get so distracted John," John glared at this.

Sherlock ignored him and continued, "All that matters is that we have something sugary and that children are fond of so that we don't seem so threatening when we interrogate the teenager whose flat now resembles an abattoir."

"Lestrade said he would interview Scarlett once he had processed the crime scene," the doctor went across to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. It began to bubble quietly as his flatmate began pacing.

"You know how long it takes for the police to process anything, John. It will be the best part of tomorrow afternoon before he so much as even calls her in for questioning. No, we must strike while the iron is hit. Interview her tonight so that everything will still be fresh in her memory."

Between his second circuits of the living room, Sherlock glanced at the clock. 6.30pm. Two hours after Scarlett had come in from wherever it was she went during the day. One hour since Anderson's forensic monkeys had rampaged their way through any credible evidence in the basement flat. Forty five minutes since Scarlett had retreated to 221B with John. Give or take a few minutes of argument with Lestrade's lapdogs blocking the entrance to 221C, Sherlock had been investigating the crime scene for fifteen minutes; which begged the question: where had the teenager gone between 6.15pm and now.

"John," Sherlock spun around, disrupting several piles of books and an equal amount of dust as he did so.

"Yes Sherlock," John poured the now boiled water into to mugs and stirred the instant coffee tiredly.

"Where's Scarlett?"

"She's in your room," Sherlock mad a mad dash across the coffee table to his door, "Asleep Sherlock." John sipped his drink and revelled in the slight boost the caffeine was promising.

"Well then I will wake her up," Sherlock pushed the door ajar, but was stopped by the raise in John's voice.

"Sherlock, stop. You can't just go barging in on a teenager who is a) asleep and b) probably on edge due to the fact that a murder has been committed in her flat and a message written in blood directed to her on her wall. Show a little compassion. Actually, no. I forgot, you can't do compassion."

Sherlock sighed through his teeth, before looking round sharply- realisation carved on his features.

"If she was so concerned about her safety, why is she asleep? She is trained by Mycroft, among others. That's not a mistake that is easily made by a professional."

John suddenly looked decidedly shifty. "I put something in her tea, "He muttered into his coffee.

"What?"

"I put a sleeping tablet in her tea," John all but shouted at his flatmate.

"Yes John," Sherlock said calmly, "I did hear you the first time. I was more asking why?"

"She was in shock. I figured she wouldn't be able to sleep unaided, and that even if she was reeling from tiredness she wouldn't let me give her something, so I drugged her drink."

Sherlock sighed, "I wasn't asking why you did it. I was asking why you tried."

The detective pushed open the door to his room. The light pooled around the floor and made a spotlight onto the clearly empty bed. As John glanced over his flatmates shoulder, he noted the open window and billowing curtains.

Silently, Sherlock crossed the room and bent down to just below the window ledge. A note was taped to the wall. After scanning it, Sherlock ripped it off the wall and showed it to John. The doctor sighed as he read it.

_Dear Dr. Watson_

_A word of warning for future intent_

_To drug someone without their consent_

_Do please bear in mind_

_If your target's not blind_

_They may know what you've planned and repent._

Sherlock crumpled the note into his palm. John watched it fold in on itself in his flatmates hand, before looking up at the taller man seriously.

"So the teenager under your care has just scarpered with a limerick as her goodbye."

"It appears so John, yes."

"Right," John sighed yet again that day, "What do we tell Mycroft?"

**Reviews as always appreciated. As to the (very bad) limerick. What can I say, I was bored and I thought it was a very Scarlett thing to do. **

**Until next time…**


	9. No Choice in the Matter

**Hi, me again being horrifically late with posting due to exams, lack of imagination and discovering NCIS. This may be it for a while- more info at the bottom for those who wish to know. I will try to post when I can but I have concerns which may prevent this. Sorry for being so Mycrofty and illusive, I just think that rather than hear me ramble you would prefer to just read : )**

**GiraffePanda2: Thanks I'm glad people enjoy something that I enjoy also. **

**aliceAmnesia: I know I haven't really explained anything. That is my main conern about the entire thing really. I don't think I have planned this well and while I like to think I have matured in my writing, this plot has been somewhat left in the park. I am glad that this at least provides some enjoyment for you, and I will try my best to get my act together and find out what the hell is going on with the plots. Thank you for you reviews though- it means a lot.**

**Ohthatfangirl: Sorry for not updating. I keep promising but turns out I'm not too great a plot related promises. I hope you enjoy what I have to offer for now; I will try my best to be a bit quicker in the future.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Sherlock, including characters, scenes and possible plot lines. I only own my imagination and the plot lines that have derived from it.**

**Anyway, on with the show:**

Brian Lane hated Thursdays. The standalone day between mid-week and the day before the weekend. Thursdays were days of filing, procrastinating and consuming too many biscuits. Brain sighed and forced his bike through the temperamental doors of the life. Thursdays: the days of uninterrupted boredom. Forcefully, the bike was pushed through the slowly opening doors of the lift three floors up, as the UCOS employee wrestled the short distance to the office doors and then won the battle; shoving his bike inside and looking around.

A gun lay on his desk, nestled amidst a pile of papers that should have been organised. Scarlett was sat crumpled in the now concerned 65 year old's chair. Brian's analytical mind put two and two together, and he dropped his bike. Forgoing his helmet, he rushed first to his desk; floundered with the thought of picking the gun up for a second; and then changed to flustering around the 15 year old. Shakily, he checked her pulse. Scarlett screamed and fell off the chair.

"Shh Scarlett, it's me. It's Brian, "Brian knelt down next to the girl who was blinking rapidly from her lateral position testing out the softness of the carpet.

After taking a minute to compose herself and reassess why she was in the situation she was in – work placements, government officials, death threats, drugged drinks, ok up to date- the teenager responded tiredly.

"Good morning Mr Lane," Scarlett brushed sleep out of her eyes, " Why are you wearing a bike helmet?"

"I cycled in," Brian sounded puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

Scarlett sat up groggily, " Filing. Sorry about the mess."

The UCOS detective looked around him at the spotless office, minus the heaped documents on his desk. "What mess?"

The teen got to her feet and stared around her in confusion.

"Well," she said wistfully, " That's new. Cleaning unconsciously. I should charge for my services. Tea?"

"Coffee please. How did you get in?" S

Scarlett bit her lip as she started about making coffee in the small annex that served as a makeshift kitchen.

" I, er, found a key."

"Really?"

Scarlett sighed. The correct term for this situation would be 'Busted'.

"Second window to the right in DCI Pullman's office. I hardly had a choice though- I left my visitor pass in my apartment."

"Couldn't you just have asked for another one at reception?"

"Not at three in the morning Mr Lane- sugar?"

"No, thank you. What were you doing up at that time? You should have been-"

"Asleep-"Scarlett cut him off as she stirred the hot drinks methodically. "I know. Or at least safely tucked up in bed with a good book. Probably not scaling a four story building because someone is making threats on your life and you're the only one who knows about it. Funny how these things work out. I'll go get you a muffin or something from the canteen."

The teenager tried to make her escape but was intercepted by Brian's tone.

"Miss Holmes, sit down."

Reluctantly, she did as she was told.

"I want to know the real reason you are here before everyone else; why you broke in and why you are so anxious to leave again. Now."

"It's really complicated. The edited version is the version I just told you. As to why I broke in, I needed somewhere safe to stay and I figured that where better than a police building. Also I need to leave because if I don't I will miss my train and I don't think they refund one way tickets."

"They do, on occasion, and if needs be I'll pay for your ticket. But not before you tell me why you are so scared. Don't try to deny it, anyone could spot it, and I'm not anybody- What did you do to the crime board?!"

Scarlett looked up from her feet at the brightly decorated whiteboard. Ah.

"I needed it," she began feebly.

"Well so did we- for an official police investigation."

"No you didn't," Scarlett scraped back a tiny bit of her defiance.

"Oh really?" Brian could feel the anger growing. "And why would that be?"

"Because I solved your case. Hence the case files on your desk. The cat did it. Not on purpose obviously, but the electronic tag on its collar was easily programmable and all it took was to fit a small carbon monoxide canister behind the air freshener and poof- cat walks in, cat flat reroutes electronic impulse to air freshener, one dead housewife. Therefore we get to the conclusion that the true criminal in all of this is not Tibbs and its fancy ID tag, but in fact the misleading cleaner Dorothia. Case closed."

"No," Brian could feel his patience dwindling. Why couldn't Sandra be here by now? "You've merely created a theory. You need witness reports, statements- not to mention a confession."

"Done, done and done. Turns out people are really cooperative at four am." Scarlett started walking again in the direction of the door.

"Well what's all this then?" Brian wouldn't let her leave, not without answers.

"That is my case. Or rather, it is the case that Scotland Yard are currently scratching their heads at while banning me from my own basement flat. Don't worry; I don't need it any more. I'll clear it up before I go."

"Is that blood?" The older man stepped towards the crime board curiously. Scarlett looked first at him, then the board, and then at the movement from the other side of the window in Sandra Pullman's vacant office. Something clicked in Scarlett's mind. So did the trigger on the gun.

"Down," she shouted while forcing Brian to the floor. The detective wheezed and started to protest, but Scarlett shushed him. Two shots shattered the glass of the outside windows and created two neat holes in the inner glass. The shots landed in the wall above Scarlett's head. Brian Lane gulped.

After shakily guiding the 'civilian' in the room underneath the nearest desk, Scarlett crawled on all fours to the nearest light switch, all the while keeping the window in her vision. To say this was unexpected would be lying; she had just hoped she'd have been away from anyone who might get hurt because of her. Obviously they'd catch up with her. How could she have been so stupid? She should never have stayed, got even vaguely settled in. Where had the logical mind gone, the one that moved on at every opportunity and ignored everything that the cadaver in a suit that was acting as her legal guardian had to say or suggest to her? Where had the intelligence and general instinct to survive disappeared off two in under two weeks?

Another shot broke the teen from her thoughts with a literal bang. In as smooth a movement as her shaking legs would permit her to do, the teen stood up, flicked the lights off, and then dove for cover to the floor again. The office was plunged into silent darkness.

Scarlett 'Holmes' gulped, cursed her life choices, and hit speed dial.

**Ooh, cliff hanger. I know they are bad but I am clutching at straws here. When I started this it was nothing more than an idea that was working well. But nearly a year on from the first plot bunnies entered my mind, everyone is confused, me most of all. I didn't really have a plot, I still don't wish I know is terrible but it has meant I have explored things that I would never have done. Despite this though, I only have very loose ideas of what is going to happen and then because people actually like this I have to consider whether you guys are getting bored or will be bored. Also I am currently writing a really long but I think genuinely good fanfiction. The characters in that I think are more believable, have more emotion then a chair- unlike Scarlett- and have much more interesting lives. This is taking up quite a bit of my writing juice and while at some point I would like to share it with the world, I would have to consult the brain juice that is my good friend and whether she would want it published. Also I don't know if I need the pressure of that however much I want to do more with it as a book.**

**So yeah. I will try to continue this as long as people want to read it, I have some ideas for near future happenings in Scarlett's little world, but I am 100% open for suggestions so please PM or review if you have any ideas. I could really do with the help.**

**As always reviews welcome. I could do with your thoughts on all this, so anything would be very much appreciated.**

**Until next time (whenever that may be…)**


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